


Where the Shattered Pieces Lie

by impala_deviations (Aedemiel)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Porn With Plot, Tags May Change, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aedemiel/pseuds/impala_deviations
Summary: Alternate version of Sam and Cas turning Dean back from a demon into a human, with Wincest, Destiel, Sastiel and Wincestiel.





	1. Confrontation

Sam had never seen the Impala looking like this. Covered in blood, windows smashed, almost crumpled into a ball, yes. Filled with trash, muddy, smelling of God knows what, that was new. Dean,or rather the demon Dean had become, had turned it into a dumpster. His nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“This thing is filthy,” he said sadly. 

Dean leaned his head back, unconcerned. “It’s just a car, Sam.” 

_ It’s just a car, Sam.  _ The words seemed to echo in Sam’s head.  _ It’s just a car. _ It wasn’t just a car. It had never been just a car, not to Sam who didn’t really care about cars in general and certainly not to Dean, for whom it had been the love of his life. The Impala had been the one stable thing they’d had growing up, and even now it was an anchor. Without it and the memories it carried, Sam would never have been able to throw off Lucifer’s control.

_ It’s just a car, Sam.  _ His throat hurt. If he’d needed a sign of just how lost Dean was, this was it. But he was going to fight for his brother, even if it killed him. 

“‘It’s just a car,’” he repeated, trying to keep his tone light and not betray the sorrow he felt. “Wow. You really have gone dark.”

Dean met his eyes in the mirror, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You have no idea.”

But Sam had to believe. Hadn’t Dean believed in him, when he’d said yes to Lucifer? When he’d been ripped from the Cage without his soul?

“You know what, Dean? I saw what happened back there,” Sam declared. He cast a glance at his brother. “You could have killed that guy, and you didn't. You took mercy on him.”

Dean laughed, a hard, vicious sound so unlike his brother’s real laugh. “You call that mercy?” his brother said incredulously. He shook his head. “Imagine you spend your whole life hunting down the guy that knifed your father. When you finally find him... He whips you like a dog.” Sam’s blood turned to ice in his veins at the amusement and pure wicked delight in his brother’s voice. “How do you think that feels? That kid's gonna spend his whole life knowing that he had his shot and that he couldn't beat me. That ain't mercy. That's the worst thing I could have done to him.”

“And what I'm gonna do to you, Sammy…” A slow smile spread across his face, tainted with bloodlust and an unholy fire that made Dean look utterly alien. “Well, that ain't gonna be mercy, either.”

Sam couldn’t look at him anymore. He concentrated on the road ahead, planning out his next moves. Get Dean back to the bunker, down in the basement where he could be controlled. And then hope the cure worked. It had to work. Sam didn’t know what he was going to do if it didn’t.

* * *

Sam expected Dean to fight him when he opened the car door and began to manhandle him out. But his brother was strangely quiescent. Sam didn’t trust it. Human Dean was the finest hand to hand fighter he knew even when cuffed or restrained. This demon version was going to be even trickier. 

Dean looked around the bunker as Sam dragged him through the corridors. “I really thought you might have redecorated,” he said mildly. “This place is depressing.”

Sam ignored him, Dean was only trying to irritate him. He just needed to keep his head. As he marched Dean down the stairs to the basement, a smile hovered at the edge of Dean’s mouth.

“Ooh, you’re taking me to the sex dungeon,” he said mockingly. “What’s my safeword? ‘Lucifer’s Bitch’?” 

Sam flinched and his brother laughed that horrid laugh again. “Shut up,” he snarled.

To his surprise, Dean did. But his eyes were dancing with triumph. Sam had given Dean what he wanted, dammit. He shoved his brother harder than he needed to into the room and into the chair that sat in the middle of the Devil’s Trap engraved into the floor. He methodically fastened each of the straps around Dean’s arms and legs, brushing off his brother’s taunts and obscene suggestions. Once he was satisfied that Dean was secure, he stepped back and exhaled loudly, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion.

He needed to call Cas. He wasn’t looking forward to the first meeting between the angel and this new, demonic Dean. Cas wore his heart on his sleeve, and Sam worried that Dean now held a great deal of power to hurt him. But he couldn’t do this alone, and there was nobody else he could call. He sighed and headed back upstairs, Dean’s complaints following him as he went.

He opened the fridge when he entered the kitchen almost on reflex. He hadn’t eaten in over a day and in theory he should be starving. But his appetite was gone. He let the door close and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. He filled it from the faucet, drinking it down in one gulp. It was ice cold and he quickly drank two more glasses, the purity of it strangely soothing. Finally he felt ready to face Cas and dialed the angel’s number.

“...have to take this. Sam?” The angel sounded stressed and yet it was clear he was glad to hear from him. A burst of affection for Cas made Sam feel warm inside.

“Hey, Cas. I got him.”

“You--” There was a muffled sound and when Cas spoke again his voice was hushed. “You’ve got Dean? How is he?”

“Demonic,” Sam said dryly. “It’s bad, Cas. But I don’t think he’s irretrievable. I’m gonna try the cure.”

“You might kill him,” the angel said softly.

“I know,” Sam replied. “But Dean, the real Dean, wouldn’t want me to leave him like this. He’d rather be dead.”

Cas made a strangled noise Sam couldn’t decipher. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

* * *

When he returned to the basement, it was obvious that Dean had unsuccessfully attempted to free himself from his bonds. He glared at Sam, and then sneered at the syringe in his hands.

“Sam, I know you think you’re gonna try and fix me, but… did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be fixed?” Dean said. “Just let me go live my life. I won’t bother you. What do you care?”

Sam wasn’t sure if Dean meant it as a barb, but it hurt anyway. “What do I care?” he said, taking the holy water he’d brought with him and splashing it around. He started chanting in Latin and Dean did his best to look bored.

“You think I’m just gonna sit here like Crowley?” Dean growled, his face twisted with hate. “Getting all weepy while you shoot me up? Well, screw that. I don’t want this!”

It was funny how life turned out. Not so long ago, they’d been on opposite sides of this fence. Without a soul, Sam had not been entirely unlike a demon, albeit without the powers. He knew all too well how seductive it was. No regrets, no guilt. Just doing whatever the hell you wanted, with no consideration of how it affected anyone else. 

“Yeah, I pretty much figured that out,” he told his brother. “But this is for your own good.”

“You don’t even know if this is gonna work, do you?” Dean accused. His tone turned from desperate to threatening. “You know, I got a hell of a lot more running through me than just demon juice.”

It was crucial that Sam not let Dean see how worried he was. He had to keep calm and carry on, as that old British wartime poster said.

“Mark of Cain, got it,” he said easily. Dean seemed disappointed that Sam didn’t appear to be at all worried.

“That’s right,” he said, but the menace was gone.

Sam approached him with the syringe of blood in his hands. “Buckle up,” he advised. 

There was no mistaking the panic on Dean’s face. “Sammy,” he pleaded. “You know I hate shots.”

Sam looked him directly in the eyes, not even flinching when they flicked to black. “I hate demons,” he said and threw holy water over him. Dean screeched in pain, his skin sizzling and steam rising from everywhere the water had touched. Sam dived in and plunged the needle into Dean’s arm. His brother groaned, a terrible sound of pain and distress and it tugged at Sam’s conscience. 

“Look, we got a whole bunch more of these to go,” he said. “You could make it a lot easier on yourself.”

Dean didn’t seem to be listening, his eyes widened and staring off into the distance. His breathing rasped and he made occasional wordless grunts, his face damp with sweat. Sam didn’t dare let up, loading up another syringe. 

“For all you know, you could be killing me,” Dean’s head was lolling back on his shoulders. It was Sam’s deepest fear of course, that the cure to Dean’s condition might be death. But he had to remember, this wasn’t Dean, not really. He was a demon… and demons lie.

“Or you’re just messing with me,” Sam shrugged as though unconcerned. “Either way, the lore doesn’t say anything about exceptions to the cure.”

He didn’t like the way Dean began to laugh, a pained sound through his labored breathing.

“The lore,” he said derisively. “Hunters. Men of Letters. What a load of crap it all is!” He eyed Sam as though measuring his reaction. “Oh, you got nothing?”

“You want me to debate you?” Sam said mildly. “This isn’t even the real you I’m talking to.”

“Oh, it’s the real me, all right,”Dean growled. “The new real me—the me that sees things for what they really are.” He sat up a little straighter and captured Sam’s gaze. “Winchesters. Do-gooders. Fighting the natural order.” He gave a sickly grin. “What’s the point? There are too many humans anyway. Let me tell you something—guys like me,  _ things  _ like me? We  _ are  _ the natural order. It’s the way it was set up.”

“Guys like me still got to do what we can,” Sam told him. He touched Dean’s forehead with the back of his hand. His brother’s skin was feverishly hot, and the way Dean shunned the contact made his stomach contract.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Sammy,” Dean spat. “‘Cause, see, from where I’m sitting… There ain’t much difference from what I turned into to what you already are.” 

Sam froze, the venom in those words overriding his good sense. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he barked.

Dean’s lip curled in contempt. “I know what you did when you went looking for me. I know how far you went. Crowley told me all about it.” He raised one eyebrow. “There are so many things the old Dean never said to you. He just kept it all bottled up inside. Me, I’m gonna let it all hang loose. So let me ask you … which one of us is really a monster? Hmm? Is it starting to come back to you now?”

Sam turned away from him, unable to keep his emotions under control while this… thing looked at him with his brother’s eyes and slandered him with his brother’s mouth. Yes, he’d done terrible things in pursuit of Dean and Crowley. Awful, unforgivable things. Like that poor bastard Lester, whom he’d used in his misery. 

Dean nodded, “That’s right. Just so you know, I killed Lester myself.” He looked satisfied, like he’d just enjoyed a good meal. “That was a great kill. Wife was a looker, let me tell you. How she ended up with a loser like Lester, I’ve no idea. Married the tattooed guy, if you’re interested.”

Guilt stabbed at Sam. “I never meant—”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Who cares what you meant?! That line that we thought was so clear between us and the things that we hunted, ain’t so clear is it?” He was enjoying himself, and that was a mistake. Sam had let him take the upper hand. “Wow. You might actually be worse than me! I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life and his soul. Nice work.” 

Sam shoved the needle roughly into Dean’s neck, wishing he could block out the scream of agony. He whirled around and angrily tossed the empty syringe onto the small table. 

“Let me ask you this, Sammy: If this doesn’t work, we both know what you got to do to me, right?” Dean’s chest was heaving and his skin seemed paler than it had before. “You got the stomach for that, Sam?” 


	2. Seduction

He had to take a break. Dean knew how to push all his buttons and he was too weak to ignore him. He headed upstairs and made coffee, the simple routine letting him switch off his brain for a few minutes. He needed to eat, even if he could barely stomach the idea. Eventually he settled on an apple and chewed it mechanically without tasting it. 

The crazy thing was, Dean was right. Did he have the stomach to kill his brother, if there really was no way back? He’d pushed the line further than he ever had before when searching for him. If he failed, was there anything left within himself worth saving either? He didn’t like any of the answers to that question.

And something Dean had said haunted him.  _ There are so many things the old Dean never said to you. He just kept it all bottled up inside.  _ What did that mean? He tried to push it away. Demons will say anything to keep you on the back foot, he told himself. It means nothing. He just wants you to doubt yourself. That straightened his spine. 

He stood up and stormed back downstairs, determined not to let Dean best him again.

* * *

“Back again?” Dean said tiredly. He looked bad, strung-out and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

“I had things to do,” Sam said shortly. 

Dean lifted his head, a spark in his eyes. “Did you call Cas?”

Sam didn’t see any point in denying it. “He’s on his way.” 

“Great,” Dean said and he did sound pleased. “I can’t wait.” He eyed Sam up and down. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Sam snapped. He should just keep going, stop engaging Dean in conversation and give him the next shot. 

“You don’t look so hot,” Dean said. He sounded like his old self, like he actually cared about Sam’s wellbeing. His brother had been a terrible mother hen at times, but now Sam missed it. “When did you last get any sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted before he could stop himself. He held his breath, waiting for Dean to make some derogatory remark but it never came.

“You need to take better care of yourself, Sammy,” Dean said. He quirked a fractured smile. “There’ll be nobody to nag you once I’m gone.” Sam wanted to sob, to throw himself into the arms of his brother and let out all the pain and stress of the past few weeks. He swallowed hard. This was not his brother. He’d do well to remember it.

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Sam said coldly. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Dean said quietly. “Come here.”

“I can hear you perfectly well from over here,” Sam told him.

Dean coughed, a hacking, tearing sound that made Sam’s teeth ache. “Please.”

He got up and warily approached his brother. Dean’s lips were moving but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. He got closer and yelped in surprise when Dean’s hands closed around his throat. In one smooth motion, Dean lifted him off the ground and slammed him onto the floor. He straddled Sam’s hips and grinned at him.

“Like I say, not just demon juice,” he said triumphantly. “Maybe I can’t leave this Devil’s Trap, but within it, I can do anything I want.”

“So you  _ let  _ me pump you full of blood?” Sam managed, cursing himself for being so gullible. Dean had been able to get out of the restraints anytime he’d wanted, and Sam hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“Yup. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt like a son of a bitch. But I had to make you think you’d won.” Dean’s face was predatory and terror zipped through Sam’s veins as he remembered his brother’s words to him in the car. Dean sat back, apparently able to keep Sam’s arms pinned above his head with his power alone. His eyes raked up and down Sam’s body. 

“Now we’re sitting comfortably,” Dean said. “Let’s start with some home truths.”

“Demons don’t do truth,” Sam spat. “They deal in lies.”

Dean shrugged, the insult washing over him. “Mostly, yes. But sometimes the truth is a better weapon. Lucifer once said he didn’t lie because he didn’t need to. Now I know what he meant.”

Sam inhaled slowly and tried to calm himself. He wasn’t going to get out of this predicament by being rash. With any luck, Cas might show up before Dean did any serious damage. But he wasn’t going to rely on it. Dean would give him an opening, whether he meant to or not. Sam just had to be ready.

“So, where to begin?” Dean said, mostly monologuing to himself. His glittering eyes captured Sam’s gaze. “Perhaps we should talk about how you feel about me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam said, his palms sweating. There wasn’t anything to their relationship that they hadn’t already thrashed out in the open over the years.  _ Well, maybe just one thing. But Dean doesn’t know about that… _

Dean rocked his hips and Sam’s eyes went wide at the feel of a hard ridge against his stomach. “You thought you could keep it a secret?” Dean jeered. “The lust you feel for your own brother? Even your father knew.”

“No,” Sam breathed in horror. He didn’t know how this monster with Dean’s face knew about it, he’d been careful to keep his desires a shameful secret. There was no way Dean, the real Dean, had known.

“Oh, yes,” Dean said blithely. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Fourteen years old, rutting against your brother in the bed you had to share. Why do you think John separated you? Started getting larger rooms with a cot or a couch so that none of you had to double-up?”

“I was getting too tall,” Sam said desperately. “There just wasn’t room for both of us in one bed anymore.”

“Your growth spurt didn’t start for another year,” Dean reminded him with a wicked smirk. “You weren’t even subtle about it, moaning and rubbing yourself on me like a dog in heat.”

Sam turned his head away, unable to look at the ghastly delight on Dean’s face. Dean rocked his hips again and leaned forward, his lips brushing Sam’s ear.

“Now, you can have what you want,” he whispered. Sam closed his eyes.  _ Don’t listen _ , he told himself.  _ Don’t listen and admit nothing. Demons lie. Demons lie. _ “I mean it, Sammy. We can fuck, if you want. Unlike the old Dean, I’m much more open-minded about these things.” He leaned back and began to tease open the buttons on Sam’s shirt.

“If you’re wondering, Crowley and me banged the shit out of each other,” he said conversationally. Sam wanted to throw up at that image. Dean had finished unfastening his shirt and had slid his hands under his t-shirt and across his stomach. “Mmm, feel those washboard abs.”

“Stop this,” Sam begged. He didn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction but he couldn’t bear for this to go any further. Lust and misery were tangled together in his head and tears began to gather in his eyes.

“Your mouth says no but your body says ye-es,” Dean sang, stroking one hand across the front of Sam’s jeans, his traitorous erection giving him away. 

“Please,” Sam wept, writhing beneath his brother. But he no longer knew what he was asking for.

Dean looked pleased. “Oh, yes. I like this. Look at you, Sam, all hot and bothered and begging.” He started unzipping Sam’s jeans, pushing them down his legs and taking his shorts with them. “Beautiful,” he declared and licked a long, wet line along Sam’s cock. Sam bucked and gasped, struggling against the demonic power that held him in place. 

“So here’s how it’s going to be,” Dean told him as he slipped one slick finger between Sam’s cheeks and across his entrance. What it was slick with, Sam didn’t know and didn’t dare ask. “I’m gonna take my time.” The finger circled and then pressed in gently. Sam felt dizzy with arousal and whatever fight was left drained out of him. “There we go, relax. That’s good, Sam.” 

The finger slipped inside remarkably easily before sliding agonizingly slowly out again. In, circle around and out. Sam panted breathlessly, his entire world reduced to sensation and need. He felt the slight burn as Dean added a second finger, and scissored them before withdrawing once more. In and out, over and over again until after what seemed like a lifetime, Dean added a third finger and hummed in satisfaction. He heard the jingle as Dean shucked his own jeans and shorts, and it brought him to his senses. 

“Dean,” he gasped. “ _ No _ .”

“I get that you think you have to say that,” Dean said, pushing Sam’s legs apart. “You don’t want to admit that you want me, because that would be bad and wrong. And I don’t have to be gentle with you, I’ve got you exactly where I want you and blood works well as lube.” Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “But I do that, and you can go to Cas, weeping and wailing about how I raped you. How it wasn’t your fault.” Sam was shaking now with fear and yet still his arousal beat at him, as though deep down he was getting off on the humiliation. “But look at you, slutty and wanton. You know I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to love it.”

Dean shifted, pushing himself forward and Sam inhaled sharply as he felt his brother’s cock breach his entrance. He wasn’t a virgin, but it had been a long time and he had to concentrate on relaxing his muscles. With a jolt he realized he’d already accepted what was happening to him, what he was letting Dean do. He could have kept fighting back, even if he was doomed to lose. But it felt so good and Dean was leveraging his considerable skill as a lover to ensure Sam was completely seduced. He’d even let up on the power that held Sam’s arms in place, allowing him to grab Dean’s head and bring him in for a searing kiss. 

Dean made a low, growling sound, deep in his chest and began to move inside Sam, slowly at first to allow him to accommodate his brother’s invasion and then picking up the pace when he felt that Sam was fully open to him. He grazed his teeth down Sam’s neck and back up, claiming his mouth and then down the other side. Sam slipped his hands down Dean’s body and clasped his buttocks, driving Dean deeper inside him. He wasn’t going to last long, Dean making love to him was the answer to every dream and fantasy he’d had since he was old enough to know what sexual desire was.

“Sammy,” Dean groaned and that was enough to tip him over the edge. He cried out his brother’s name as he came and felt Dean’s release as his brother gasped and panted between his legs. He lay underneath Dean, listening to the combined sounds of their breathing and opened his eyes. Cas stood in the doorway, his mouth open and his face appalled. 

“Well, well,” Dean said, beaming wickedly. “Looks like we have an audience.” 


	3. Vengeance

Sam stood under the thrumming water of the shower, his breath hitching as he sobbed. He didn’t know how long Cas had been standing there, watching them. But as soon as Dean had spoken, it had broken some kind of spell, and the angel had strode into the room. Dean had rolled off Sam and leaned bonelessly against the side of the chair, still smiling smugly. Cas had looked down at Sam, his face blank.

“Go get cleaned up,” he’d said. His voice was neutral, not judging, not angry. And yet shame swept through Sam as the enormity of what he’d done hit him. _It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped Dean doing what he wanted to do._ He wasn’t sure he believed it.

Sam scrubbed at his skin until it was pink and sore and still he felt unclean. He wasn’t sure he’d ever feel clean again. He’d done some terrible things in his life, many of them unforgivable. Nothing had ever made him feel so wretched. Eventually, the water ran cold, and he turned the shower off. He dried himself off, shivering and feeling slightly shocky. Pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt, he returned to his room.

He’d only been lying on his bed for a few minutes when there was a tentative knock at the door.

“Sam?” Cas said, his voice soft and sympathetic. Sam didn’t want to talk to him. He couldn’t face the idea of looking the angel in the eye. “Sam, I know you don’t want to talk to me,” the angel said through the wood. “But we have to talk about Dean.”

Sam dragged himself off the bed and opened the door. He didn’t miss how downcast Cas looked. “What is it?” His eyes were crinkled with concern and Sam was tempted to clasp the angel to him and bawl his eyes out.

“Sam, how many doses of sanctified blood have you given Dean?” Cas said without preamble.

Nonplussed, Sam had to pause and think. “Three, I think.”

Cas’s brow furrowed with worry. “He’s in much worse shape than I would expect.”

“Maybe he’s faking,” Sam suggested. He swallowed hard before admitting, “That’s how he got me…”

Cas squeezed his arm comfortingly. “Sam, you mustn't blame yourself. Dean’s no ordinary demon, you know. He’s a Knight of Hell, and they’re masters of manipulation.”

“It wouldn’t work if there hadn’t been something to manipulate,” Sam said bitterly.

The angel’s eyes darkened with compassion and pain. “You’re not the first to want something you shouldn’t,” he rumbled. He raised his hand and Sam wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he apparently thought better of it and let it fall. “I’ve left him alone too long. I will take it from here; you don’t need to--”

“No,” Sam insisted. “I have to see this through.”

* * *

Cas hadn’t been joking. Dean was motionless in the chair, his head hanging at an unnatural angle. The angel had threaded some kind of red ribbon into the restraints, and it left harsh burns on Dean’s skin. Sam gasped and dashed to his side, touching his brother’s face. Cas grabbed at his sleeve, but he jerked it free and crossed the Devil’s Trap.

“Dean?” he said. There was no response. He slapped Dean’s face and begged his brother to come back to him.

“No,” Dean whispered painfully. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his breath came in painful little gasps.

“Dean, you OK?”

Dean’s eyelids flickered. “Yeah, if you … consider drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils ‘OK’.” He coughed weakly and shivered.

“We can’t stop doing this,” Sam said. He wanted to quit, seeing Dean looking so weak and bedraggled. But if he did, then his brother was lost to him forever.

Sure you can,” Dean slurred. “You just stop! There’s no point in trying to bring your brother back now.”

“You’re wrong,” Sam told him. “We will bring him back.” He had to believe it was possible. The alternative was unthinkable. 

“Sam,” Cas said urgently from behind him. “Come out of the trap.” Sam nodded reluctantly and backed away. Dean watched him go through one eye.

“In fact, your uh… guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been M.I.A. for quite some time now,” Dean managed with apparent effort. “But I’m loving the new model: Lean, mean, Dean.” He looked Sam up and down, one side of his mouth curling upwards. “Who knew you were such a great lay, by the way? Man, I shoulda tapped that ass years ago.”

“Fuck you,” Sam snarled. Cas laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“And Castiel, my dear, devoted, muddle-headed fuck-up of an angel friend. You look terrible. Have you told Sam about how your stolen Grace is poisoning you? That you’re living on borrowed time?”

Sam cast a stunned look at the angel, whose mouth had pursed in distress. “It’s in hand,” he dismissed.

“So,” Dean said, letting his head loll back on his shoulders once more. “Who’s giving me the hit this time?”

“I am,” Cas stated. Dean began to laugh scornfully.

“Is widdle Sammy afwaid?” he lisped outrageously. He lifted his head and fixed Cas with a bold stare. “Or did you want a ride too?”

Disgust rippled across Cas’s face. “Sam, perhaps you should go get something to eat. I will join you soon.”

“Are you sure?” Sam said hesitantly.

“I think it would be best.”

* * *

Cas directed his celestial senses, or what was left of them, at Dean, who was smirking despite his pallor and the sweat that was pouring off him. If he’d been at full power, dealing with Dean in this condition would have been considerably easier. As it was, he was still confident he held most of the cards. Dean was weak; the blood infusions had taken their toll and despite his pronouncements to the contrary, he hadn’t yet shed all vestiges of his humanity.

“That was unkind,” the angel said. “It was unworthy of you.” He was angrier at Dean than he’d ever been, angrier even than when the hunter taken on the Mark of Cain. Surely he’d known Crowley was playing some long game. None of them had bargained on the demon’s lust for Dean overriding his good sense. Cas had thought Crowley was smarter than that, but it had given them the chance to save him. What was it about Dean Winchester, he wondered, that made everyone lose their minds? And he wasn’t exactly immune.

Dean gave a snort. “It’s nothing less than he deserves. It’s about time he grew up. I was his crutch for way too long.”

“And having sex with him was part of this growing up process?” the angel said in a hard voice.

“Oh, is  _ that  _ what’s got your wings in a bunch?” Dean said, laughing immoderately. “Wanted him for yourself, did you?” He squinted at Cas and laughed harder. “Ooh, it gets better,” he chortled. “You naughty, naughty angel. Mmm, I like the way you think. I could go for a threesome.”

“Don’t be revolting,” Cas said sternly. He prepped the syringe of blood and crossed the Devil’s Trap. Dean struggled against the restraints, but the wards embroidered into the spell ribbons seemed to be doing their job.

“C’mon,” Dean said. “I’m getting blue balls here.”

“I find that unlikely,” the angel said dryly. That started Dean laughing again.

“You got me,” he said, dipping his head and looking up at Cas through his lashes. Cas gulped as he struggled to control a surge of desire. No, he was not immune to Dean’s charms, even now when he could see his demonic face as well as his familiar human one.

“Sammy doesn’t have to know,” Dean said in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Right,” Cas said sarcastically. “Because you wouldn’t use it as a weapon against him?”

Dean licked his lips, and the angel almost swallowed his tongue. “Who says I won’t anyway?” he bargained. “So you might as well take what’s offered.”

Cas hesitated; a fatal mistake. Dean pounced. “I can see how much you want it,” he coaxed. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I suck you off? As a show of good faith.”

Father help him, Dean Winchester was temptation itself. Angels didn’t typically experience desire and had few defenses against it. Cas had developed more than most, but they seemed fragile and useless now. He stepped closer, Dean’s voice like a siren call, but got ahold of himself and shook his head. 

“Pity,” Dean said idly. “I give amazing blow jobs.” He peered at Cas as if trying to look through him. “You’re pissed,” he observed.

“Yes, I am,” Cas hissed. “Because when you’re cured, I’m going to have to pick up the pieces of both of you.”

“You’ve been angry with me before,” Dean said, shrugging. “Beaten the crap out of me more than once.” His eyes went distant, and his face went slightly slack. “Mmm, I gotta tell ya, that time in the alley, when you thought I was gonna let Michael wear me to the prom? You did  _ not  _ let up. I actually thought you might kill me.”

Cas stared at Dean in confusion; his words didn’t match his tone or his expression. “I had no idea that was a… pleasant memory,” he said uncertainly.

“Oh, it’s not,” Dean corrected. “Not exactly. It’s just… you were glorious, man. The righteous garrison commander, soldier of God. You stood up to Heaven, for what was right and I had let you down.” Dean’s eyes refocused on Cas, the pupils dilated. “I was half-convinced you might fuck me there and then.”

Cas’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You’re not serious.”

“As a heart attack,” Dean said. “You had a fucking raging hard-on as you whaled on me. Don’t you remember?”

He didn’t remember, not clearly. It was strange because angel memories were not like human ones. But his fury had been so all-encompassing, it had apparently blotted the details out.  _ Or you had something to hide, even from yourself. _

“I wanted you to do it,” Dean continued. “Just rip off my clothes and ram your cock into me. Dry, unprepped, it would have hurt like Hell.” He shifted in his seat and Cas could see his evident arousal. “Ungh. I still jack off thinking about it even now.”

Cas couldn’t breathe, the fact he didn’t need to breathe was momentarily lost on him. “I can’t believe you would want that,” he murmured, his perfidious vessel hardening in response to the vivid imagery.

“I’m a freak,” Dean replied. He raked Cas with his gaze. “Is that what you need? I’m powerless against these wards; you could take me easily. Let it all out, the frustration, the fury, the failure. Punish me, for what I did to Sam, to you.”

Rage roared through him unchecked, and he backhanded Dean, sending the chair flying backwards. It landed heavily, smashing into several pieces. Dean lay still with glazed eyes and blood on his mouth. But Cas wasn’t done with him yet. He grasped handfuls of his shirt and intended to shake some sense into him, but instead found himself crushing that full, sinful mouth to his own. He could taste Dean’s blood, demon blood on his tongue and that just drove the fire of his temper higher. 

“Do it,” Dean breathed, tilting his head back and baring his throat submissively. “Rape me, ruin me, beat me half to death as you fuck me.”

He wanted the picture Dean had painted for him, wanted it so badly it frightened him, and he hated the hunter for that. He couldn’t think, his mind subsumed in a feral need to rip and tear and ravage. Flipping Dean onto his stomach, he split his jeans apart with his bare hands. He stared at Dean’s buttocks for a moment, and then yanked the zipper down on his own pants so hard that it jammed.  Cursing he managed to pull out his cock and part the perfect globes of Dean’s ass with one hand. He stabbed his cock into Dean’s hole with so much force that if the hunter had been human, he’d probably have broken his pelvis. 

Dean howled with pain and lust, struggling beneath Cas’s body but the angel was stronger and riding the high of his temper. He shoved himself in and out of Dean’s body mercilessly, letting all of his emotions pour out into this single, savage act. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, it shouldn’t be this way, and God help him he shouldn’t be enjoying it, but Dean had somehow driven him almost out of his mind. 

“I hate you,” Cas snarled, even as he picked up the pace. “I hate what you’ve done to yourself, to Sam. To me. You turned yourself into a monster, and you’ve turned us into monsters trying to save you.”

“Yes,” Dean shrieked. “Hate me, fuck… Cas, oh, fuck, I wanna die like this. Come on, harder. Break me apart.”

Cas slammed Dean’s head against the floor, shivered as blood spilled and pooled from the gash on the demon’s head. “Shut up!” he roared. He slammed into Dean’s ass with everything he had and screamed as he came, shuddering as he emptied himself into Dean’s body. Then he pushed Dean away from him, gasping for breath. On his knees, he tucked his cock back into his pants, cringing at the slimy mixture of body fluids but unable to spare enough Grace to clean up.

There was come and blood smeared  _ everywhere _ . All over him, all over Dean, all over the floor. Dean was lying there quietly, like a broken doll, only his ragged breaths a sign he was still alive.  _ I almost killed him _ , Cas thought. _ And that was just what he wanted. _

That thought was like a blast of icy water, the fog of his anger retreating as a realization came to the fore.

“You’re a desire demon,” he gasped. 

Dean’s eyes flickered open, and he regarded him from the floor, his mouth twitching. “What else would I be?”

Cas began to shiver, the awareness of how Dean had managed to drive him up to the brink and over it made him feel physically ill. No wonder poor Sam had been helpless against his brother’s depravity. Cas had observed the younger Winchester’s inappropriate attachment to his brother when they’d first met. But Sam kept it buried, and Cas had not thought it problematic enough to worry about. 

“Did you really know about Sam before you became a demon?” he demanded. He had to find the lie, the leverage that Dean had used against his younger brother. It might be the only way Sam would be able to get past what Dean had done to him. 

A slow, ghastly smile spread across Dean’s face. “No. John knew, and took steps, thought he nipped it in the bud I imagine.”

“So how did you find out?” Cas said challengingly. 

“Sam knows, even if he chooses not to remember.” He struggled laboriously into a sitting position and canted his head at Cas. “My gift allows me to extract hidden desires from a person’s mind. Sometimes memories come along for the ride.”

Cas pulled himself to his feet and staggered over to where the syringe had fallen from his hand and lain forgotten there before turning back to Dean. 

“So are you gonna tell Sam about this?” he grinned. 

“No,” Cas said icily, hauling Dean upwards and jabbing the syringe into his neck with more force than was necessary. The needle snapped off, and Dean howled in pain. The angel frowned at him and dug his fingers into Dean’s flesh, finding the steel fragment and yanking it out mercilessly.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean breathed. “You didn’t have to be so rough.”

“Neither did you,” Cas retorted.


	4. Revolution

Sam poked listlessly at the omelet he’d thrown together while Cas administered Dean’s latest dose of sanctified blood. He was worried about the angel, he’d experienced firsthand just how ruthless this new and definitely not improved Dean could be.  _ Or maybe Cas is tasting the same forbidden fruit you did. _ That voice sounded like Dean too, so Sam pushed it away.

 

When Cas did appear, he looked angry and flustered. And his hair was wet. Had he taken a shower? 

 

“Sam, we need to talk.” 

 

_ Or maybe it isn’t anger. Maybe it’s something else.  _ Sam irritably ignored the unhelpful voice in his head and gestured at a chair. “What is it?” 

 

The angel sat down and looked at the food on Sam’s plate. “Perhaps you should finish eating first.”

 

That did nothing to calm Sam’s nerves and he let his utensils fall with a clatter. He fixed the angel with a steady look. “Talk to me. Did you--”

 

Cas winced. Dean had gotten to him, that was for sure, but chances were the angel had been able to resist.

 

“Yeah, I knew you were stronger than me,” Sam said tiredly.

 

“I was not,” Cas admonished, his head coming up and his eyes fierce. “Because of what happened to you, I knew what he was capable of and I was ready for him. Resisting him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever tried to do. And I failed.”

 

Sam held his breath, both hoping and fearing the angel would elaborate.

 

“He… this is very difficult,” Cas stuttered. “He incited me to… assault him. Taunted me and used my anger against him.” He looked away, his cheeks burning. 

 

_Humiliation_ _or arousal?_ Sam wondered. “Did he hurt you?” he asked gently. 

 

Cas wrapped his arms around himself. He was shivering, Sam realized. As if he were in shock. What the Hell had gone on between them? “Not physically. I, on the other hand, have… inflicted considerable damage.”

 

Sam felt a bit unsteady. “Damage,” he repeated tonelessly. 

 

“He will heal quickly enough. But because of what he was able to make me do, that’s when I realized that he’s a desire demon. Which is odd, because coming from the line of Cain, I’d really expected him to be a wrath demon, or perhaps envy.”

 

“So what does that mean, that he’s a desire demon?” Sam asked.  “You’re talking about lust, like the Seven Deadly Sins?”

 

The angel shook his head. “No, not directly. Demons have aspects, it’s how they derive their powers. Some map to the seven deadly sins, that’s true. So it won’t surprise you to learn that Crowley is a greed demon. Others do not, for example Meg and Alastair’s aspects were despair.”

 

Sam nodded, absorbing what Cas was telling him. “And Ruby was a desire demon?” he guessed.

 

“No, vanity,” Cas replied. Sam blinked in surprise. “The fact you had sexual relations with her is immaterial. The aspect tells us which weakness the demon will target, not how it does so.”

 

“OK,” Sam said slowly. Actually, it made sense now that he thought about it. “So, Dean’s power as a desire demon means he attacks our sexual vices?” He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

 

“Exactly,” Cas agreed. “In your case, he singled out your suppressed desire for your brother, over which you had maintained impressive control over the years.”

 

“But you knew,” Sam said, almost accusingly.

 

“I can see into the hearts of men,” Cas admitted. “Or at least I could, once.” He sounded wistful and it made Sam ache for him.

 

“What I’m trying to tell you is Dean wasn’t honest with you.” Cas looked uncomfortable. “Dean, the demon Dean, learned of your feelings because of his abilities. He managed to pull it all from your memories, even the ones you had thought utterly quashed.”

 

Sam pushed his plate away. “I figured.” What appetite he’d had was gone now. He took a sip of beer instead. Cas had skated over exactly what he had done to Dean but Sam let it lie, suspecting he might not want to know. He lurched over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. Cas came up behind him and laid one hand on his back. The contact felt so human and it made Sam want to weep.

 

“Sam,” Cas said, stroking his back in gentle circles. The nausea faded, to be replaced by a flicker of attraction so inappropriate it was almost worse. “I’m sorry, Sam.” Sam shook his head unhappily. Cas tugged at him and he let himself be enfolded in the angel’s arms. “It’s OK.”

 

No, he was pretty sure it was never going to be OK again. But standing there and holding Cas close, he could smell the sweet pungent scent of the angel, like ozone before a storm. Cas’s body was hard, almost like a statue but he could feel a solid ridge against his leg. Cas was aroused. He didn’t know if it was from describing the angel’s encounter with Dean or whether it was for Sam alone. He didn’t care. 

 

Despite his inner turmoil, or perhaps because of it, he lifted his head and pressed his mouth to the angel’s. Cas’s lips parted for him immediately, a breathy sigh feathering across his skin. He kept it soft and sensual, as different from the violent, vicious fuck between himself and Dean as he could. He’d lost his mind, perhaps they both had. Or maybe it was the demonic influence, flowing through the bunker and creating this desire between them. It didn’t matter. 

 

Cas pushed him against the wall, not forcefully, just propelling him backwards so that he had a solid surface behind him. But the angel was in charge here and Sam was content to follow rather than lead. Cas pulled Sam’s t-shirt over his head and began to kiss and lick at his skin. Sam let his head fall back and breathed, sweet desire curling gently inside him. He was surprised at how good the angel was at this. Perhaps he’d had more experience than Sam thought.  _ You didn’t learn this from the pizza man, _ he thought with an internal snort.

 

Sam guided Cas back up to his mouth and the angel didn’t resist, instead entwining their tongues together and groaning in a way that made Sam feel hot and restless. He pushed the angel’s trenchcoat off his shoulders, followed by his button-down shirt. Now he had skin he could touch and he licked his thumb and forefinger before rolling one nipple between them. Cas pushed forward a little more, their bodies now pressed tightly together and he muttered something unintelligible. Taking that as encouragement, Sam did it again and gave a small smile when Cas made a more guttural sound. 

 

He let Cas unfasten his pants and push them down his legs with his shorts, taking a moment to step out of them. He’d never been naked in front of the angel before and Cas’s eyes widened appreciatively. It was flattering and arousing all at once. Cas fumbled at his own clothing, letting his dress pants pool around his ankles and Sam learned that angels, or at least this angel, liked to go commando. Now that he knew that, he’d never be able to look at Cas the same way again.

 

Cas lifted him and braced his body against the wall. Nobody had ever done this to Sam before, his size pretty much precluded that. But Cas didn’t even break a sweat and it was so, so hot. He felt something brush by his hole, tentative and experimental and he shivered in anticipation. But if Cas’s hands were holding his body, what the Hell had just touched him? 

 

“What was that?” he murmured.

 

Cas didn’t stop nibbling at the skin of his neck. “A wingtip,” he said indistinctly.

 

Sam almost came there and then. “Fuck,” he whimpered.

 

The sensation came again, more confidently this time, sliding along his crack with a strange, tingling sensation and quickly reducing him to a begging, blubbering mess. He could feel Cas breathing against his skin. 

 

“Are you ready for me?” he whispered.

 

“Yes,” Sam said, desperately.

 

He felt the tingling wingtip press at his hole and then slide easily inside. Sam was still stretched from where Dean had fucked him earlier and Cas had managed to add some kind of lubrication, so everything was smooth and painless. Cas kept probing him, gently testing the limits of his body and then made a satisfied noise and the wingtip withdrew. Sam whined, the loss of stimulation making him needy and uninhibited.

 

“I’ve got you,” Cas said and shifted Sam’s body slightly. Sam’s eyes flew open as he felt Cas pushing into his body. 

 

“Oh my god,” Sam gasped. “You feel incredible.” There weren’t really word to describe the feel of the angel’s cock inside him. If the wingtip had been slightly tingly, this was electric, sparks of sensation exploding inside him and making him almost dizzy with need. 

 

Cas began to move, setting up a smooth sensuous rhythm that swamped Sam with emotions. The angel was making love to him, and by all that was holy, Sam had never experienced such an erotic, loving coupling as this. He buried his nose in Cas’s neck, grazing his teeth over a sensitive spot. Cas made a wordless sound and picked up the pace, breathing raggedly. 

 

“Sam,” he huffed. “I love you, Sam,”

 

“Oh,” Sam exclaimed in surprise, awash in desire. “You too, Cas. Love. Yes.” And then the angel cried out his release and Sam tumbled over the edge with him.

 

*

 

Dean’s room was a mess. Sam sighed as he stepped over the moldy remains of a slice of pie that had been there for who knew how long. On the dresser was a notebook, he flipped through the pages idly to find photographs, some so old the colors had faded. Mom and Dean as a little boy. Mom and Dad, smiling into the camera without a care in the world. One of him, Dean and Bobby which made a lump form in his throat. And then two pictures of him and Dean, one with the Impala in the background. His eyes shimmering with tears, he tucked one of the pictures into his pocket and left the room. 

 

To his dismay, when he walked into the basement, the chair was a pile of splinters. The restraints and handcuffs, even Cas’s spell ribbon were lying discarded on the floor.

 

“Shit,” he swore. How the Hell had Dean gotten free? They’d underestimated him, again. He had to reach the control room, put the bunker on lockdown. He grabbed another syringe of blood, capped it and slipped it into a pocket, then withdrew Ruby’s knife from his boot, thankful he’d had the sense to pick it up that morning.

 

“Sammy…” Dean's voice echoed through the bunker. Sam couldn’t tell where he was, but the sound was some distance away. He was used to the way sound echoed in this place. He crept along the corridor, Ruby’s knife in his hand. He wasn’t going to use that unless he had no other option but it would be stupid not to use one of the few weapons he had. 

 

He could hear doors banging open and Dean calling his name. Time to get moving. The keys to the bunker control room were in the library. It was a dangerous proposition since he had a high chance of running into Dean there. But what choice did he have? He moved as silently as he could, pausing frequently to listen for Dean. He couldn’t believe his luck when he managed to reach the library without incident and that the keys were still in their usual drawer.

 

He wondered how long that luck would last. Sneaking back out into the hall, he heard a scraping sound and froze.

 

“Come on, Sammy! Don’t you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time?” Dean called out, way too close for Sam’s comfort. “I got what you want right here, little brother.” 

 

The sound of his voice faded as he moved further away and Sam exhaled in relief. He padded away in the opposite direction. His luck just needed to hold a little longer.

 

The control room was quiet, just a few blinking lights showing all was normal. Sam wasted no time throwing the switches in sequence to put the bunker in full lockdown mode. An alarm began to wail and the lights switched to the red emergency bulbs. Dean would know what he’d done but he was trapped.  _ In here. With you and Cas. Better hope that’s enough. _

 

He slipped back out of the control room to hear a few loud metallic bangs. He stopped and listened intently.

 

“Smart, Sam! Locking the place down. Doors won’t open. I get it, you don’t want me to leave. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to leave! Not ‘til I find you!” There was so much rage in Dean’s voice, distorting it to the point it was almost unrecognizable. “And do you know what I’m gonna do when I find you?”

 

Sam didn’t want to know but was uncomfortably aware that he had a pretty good idea. Dean was getting closer, probably heading for the control room to unlock the bunker again. He slipped down a side corridor and waited.

 

“Sammy! You’re just making this worse for yourself, man!” Dean yelled from somewhere close by. “Oh, by the way, you can, uh… blame yourself for me getting loose. All that blood you and Cas pumped into me to make me human… Well. The less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that Devil’s Trap? Well, I just walked right across it. It smarted, but still.”

 

Sure enough, Dean appeared, loping down the corridor in this strange, almost animalistic run. He darted into the control room and Sam heard him flipping switches. He leaped out of his hiding place and slammed the door shut with a clang.

 

“That’s your big move?” Dean hollered derisively, hammering on the door.

 

“Listen to me, Dean! We were getting close, okay?” Sam called to him through the control room door. “I know you’re still in there somewhere. Just let us finish the treatments.” He jumped back as the door began to splinter. Where the Hell had Dean gotten that hammer?

 

“You act like I want to be cured!” Dean roared through the split in the door. He met Sam’s eyes and grinned. “Personally, I like the disease.”

 

“Dean, I don’t want to use this blade on you,” Sam told him, brandishing Ruby’s knife.

 

“That sucks for you, doesn’t it? ‘Cause you really mean that!” Dean didn’t sound convinced.

 

“If you come out of that room, I won’t have a choice!” Sam barked.

 

“Sure you will! And I know which one you’ll make. Isn’t that right, Sammy? But see … Here’s the thing: I’m lucky. Oh, hell, I’m blessed!” Dean started smashing down the rest of the control room door. “‘Cause there’s just enough demon left in me that killing you ain’t no choice at all. But don’t worry, I’m gonna be balls deep in you before I slit your throat.” The door finally succumbed to the punishment Dean was subjecting it to. Sam took to his heels.

 

“Come on, Sammy! Let’s have a beer, talk about it. I’m tired of playing. Let’s finish this game!”

 

Sam was pressed against a wall, listening to his brother ranting. He leaned out for a quick look but the hall was empty. When he turned his head, he got just a brief warning of a shadow and ducked. The hammer swept past his head and buried into the wall. Instinct brought the knife up to Dean’s throat. His brother smiled at him, a cold brittle thing.

 

“Well…” he purred. “Look at you.  _ Do it.  _ It’s all you.” He leaned forward until the blade was pressed deep into his skin. Sam looked at him, his brother, whom he loved more than anyone else in the world and he couldn’t make the killing blow. He let the knife fall. Dean’s eyes went black and he pressed himself against Sam.

 

“Told you,” he taunted and curled his hand around the back of Sam’s head. He kissed him, a savage, biting kiss that was about dominance, not affection. Suddenly, the pressure of his body was gone and Sam was staring at Cas, his arms around Dean and his eyes flaring blue with his Grace.

 

“It’s over,” Cas announced. Dean struggled and yelled but the angel held him easily. “Dean, it’s over.”

 

“Like Hell it is,” Dean growled. “If you wanted to fuck me again, you could have just said.”

 

The angel shook his head and gritted his teeth. “No, Dean. You’re done.”


End file.
